The Cupid Shuffle
by andthenagainbegin
Summary: Emma Swan has always hated Valentine's Day, but a series of notes left by a secret admirer make her question everything. (I wrote this in February 2013 as a Valentine's present for a fellow tumblr user who I was a secret cupid for, events prior to 2x12).
1. Chapter 1

The Cupid Shuffle

It was only seven in the morning and already Emma Swan was having a bad day. The power had gone out in the middle of the night and turned off her alarm clock. She'd woken up an hour later than she'd planned and just barely had time to throw on a pair of skinny jeans, a thick sweater, and her boots before leaving. She stopped in the doorway when a blast of icy cold air accosted her face.

"For the love of God…" she muttered. It was the middle of February and she'd forgotten her coat. What a great day this one was going to be.

She was even more behind schedule once she'd finally pulled a coat, scarf, and hat out of her closet. She could feel her patience wearing thin.

As she locked the door, a piece of paper caught her eye. It was stuck behind the apartment number, which rested at eyelevel next to the doorframe.

She picked it up and read the one word that was written there: _Hi_.

Her eyebrows scrunched up as she took in that simple word. _What on earth…_

It was written on a piece of paper that had clearly been pulled out of a notebook; the edges were torn. The ink looked like it was from some kind of blue pen and the rough handwriting was totally unfamiliar to her.

She didn't have time to deal with whatever this meant. She folded the note up, stuck it in her pocket, and proceeded down the street in the direction of Granny's. If ever she needed a cup of coffee, today was the day.

* * *

Emma didn't realize what day it was until she walked into Granny's and was accosted by pink and red decorations hanging on every surface in the restaurant, from the ceiling to the sign in the back pointing to the restrooms. She had never seen so many hearts in her entire life.

She spun on the spot and was about to walk right back out when she was hugged from behind.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Mom!"

Emma forced a smile onto her face before she answered. "Right back atcha, kid!"

"What's wrong?" Henry asked.

Emma didn't answer right away as she silently cursed whoever was responsible for giving her such a perceptive kid.

"Nothing," she answered, walking over to their normal booth. Henry had already ordered his usual hot chocolate with cinnamon. Without asking she took a sip, hoping that it would distract Henry from his questions.

It didn't.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

Emma tried to look confused. "What do you mean?"

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Forcing expressions onto your face."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are, you're doing it right now."

"I am no-"

"Hey, Emma! What can I get for you?" Ruby interrupted as she swooped over to their booth, blissfully unaware of their conversation. She was wearing even more red than normal and had gigantic heart shaped earrings hanging from her ears.

"Uh, yeah, I'll take a coffee, thanks," Emma replied, burying her head in her hands.

"What's wrong with her?" Ruby whispered to Henry. She looked about to say something else, but was distracted when a bell announced that a new customer entered. It was Dr. Whale. He was holding a single red rose in his hand.

Ruby screeched in excitement and ran over to him.

Emma groaned and put her face down on the table.

"Seriously," Henry said.

She peaked up at him. "I just hate this day."

"What, Valentine's Day?" he asked with a laugh.

She just nodded, not caring to go into the gory details.

"Why? Because you don't have a Valentine?"

When she didn't answer, he said, "You know you could just ask someone."

Of their own accord a pair of bright blue eyes popped into her mind. She chuckled out loud as she tried to shoo that image away. "It's not that simple, kid," she said with a sigh.

He gave her a look that plainly said it _was_ that simple. Mercifully he changed the subject. "Did you make the cookies?"

"What cookies?"

"The cookies for my class? For the party today?"

_Just when I thought this day couldn't get any worse..._

"Completely slipped my mind," she admitted. "I have to go to the station for a little while, but I'll go get some dough and bring them to the school. What time do you need me there?"

* * *

Five minutes later Emma walked determinedly down the street, cup of coffee in hand. She hated that she'd been short with Henry, but she just really couldn't stand this day. She couldn't help it, past experience made her wary of anything remotely cupidlike and, by association, the same applied to anyone who loved this particular holiday. She'd make it up to him later.

She was about to enter the station, her mind still full of her conversation with Henry, when she saw it: a piece of paper folded up and taped to the door.

She froze.

_Another one?_

She picked it up, flipped it open, and read: _You look very nice today_. It was in the same scraggily hand as the other one she'd found outside her apartment.

Her head snapped up as she quickly scanned the street. Did she have some kind of stalker? There was no one in sight, but she had the strangest feeling that she was being watched.

An involuntary shiver ran up her spine as she finally pushed the door open.

She shook her coat off and hung it on the hook, her eyes avoiding Graham's old jacket, which also hung on there, before pulling both notes out and laying them side-by-side. No doubt about it, they were definitely written by the same person, but she still didn't recognize the writing. Maybe with a little detective work she could find the writer.

Emma pulled open the filing cabinet that sat in the corner and quickly located the file she was looking for. It was full of forms filled out by every resident in Storybrooke listing addresses and other such basic facts. She would simply go through each until she found a match.

But an hour later Emma had found nothing, and she was just as dumbfounded as she'd been before. She looked at the clock and realized with a shock that it was nearly nine. With a groan she abandoned her search.

As she was locking up she found another one stuck under the doormat that said: _Have a nice day_.

* * *

Emma was not the type to let things bother her, but this strange series of notes rattled her, as she suspected had been the writer's intention. She was completely distracted as she made her way around the grocery store and it took her nearly five minutes to locate the cookie dough despite the fact that she'd been in there a million times before. She bought sugar cookies, the kind with Valentine's themed shapes on them, and made her way to the register. Baking anything from scratch always resulted in disaster for her, not that she had time to try.

She half expected to find another note from the weirdo on her door when she got home, but there was nothing there. She tried to convince herself that nothing else was going to happen as she yanked open the drawer under the stove, found a cookie sheet, and arranged the pieces of dough on it.

_Dammit, Swan, pull yourself together._

Emma made it to the school with about five minutes to spare. She was running so quickly down the hallway that she almost slid into a wall as she rounded a corner.

"Mom!" Henry yelled when she finally appeared. The classroom was filled with children and their mothers, busy passing out treats. The kids were clearly already high on sugar; they were bouncing off the walls. "I thought you weren't coming."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Now why would you think that? I've never let you down before."

Henry shrugged. "True."

Mary Margaret came up then, looking resplendent, as always, in a light pink dress. She was wearing earrings shaped like cupids and looked so excited about the festivities that Emma wanted to vomit. "About time you showed up," she said as she hugged her daughter.

"I… got held up."

Mary Margaret's eyes narrowed.

"Looks like quite the celebration," Emma commented, changing the subject.

"Yes, well, this is one of my favorite holidays, you know."

Emma suddenly realized that Henry wasn't next to them anymore, and she looked around for him. It was then that she saw her son talking to Jefferson's daughter, Grace. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach she realized how fast he was growing up. She'd missed so much already and here he was already with his first crush.

She felt her heart break a little as she watched them.

* * *

Emma stayed to help clean when the children abandoned the party in favor of the playground. "You and David have plans tonight?" She felt strange using their real names, but it would feel stranger calling them Mom and Dad and even stranger to call them Snow and Charming.

"Yes! We're going to dinner, but I don't know where. He wants it to be a surprise," Mary Margaret answered with such enthusiasm that Emma was tempted to run from the room.

Emma faked a smile as she began stacking paper plates. There was icing with little pieces of heart shaped confetti all over nearly every table in the room. Who's brilliant idea had it been to let the children decorate their own cupcakes?

"What about you? Have a big date tonight?" Mary Margaret asked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

Emma snorted. "No."

"Why not?"

"Valentine's Day is noting more than a fabrication of the greeting card industry, and I fail to see the point of it. If you really love someone, you should treat them well every day, not just once a year."

Mary Margaret looked nothing short of scandalized by her daughter's answer.

Emma purposefully knocked over a cup filled with red Kool Aid so that she would have to leave the room to go find paper towels.

* * *

It was nearly two o'clock when Emma finally left the school and headed back to the station. She had now wasted nearly half the day and knew that she had a great deal of paperwork to catch up on and a million phone calls to return.

She was quite far from the door when her eyes noticed something white on it. _Another one!?_

She broke into a run and almost ripped the note in her eagerness to open it.

_Back at work so soon? Go home_.

Her eyes narrowed. Someone was playing games with her. Well fine, let them, she wasn't going to listen.

She threw her hair over her shoulder, perhaps a little more dramatically than the occasion called for, and strode inside without looking back.

* * *

She was right, there were about two dozen messages waiting on the machine for her and by the time she'd answered everyone's queries and filed the related paperwork it was five, her usual quitting time. Deciding that she'd made her point perfectly well, Emma went about her normal closing duties and locked up before leaving.

She wrapped her coat more tightly around her as she walked and it wasn't long before she was chilled right to the bone. She thought longingly of the pot of coffee she would make once she was home.

But all thoughts of coffee left her mind when she saw the package sitting on her doorstep. There was a folded piece of paper on top.

_What the hell is going on!?_

Deciding on the spot not to look inside the box out in the open because she just _knew_ someone was watching her, she unlocked the door and kicked her gift inside.

_There, let the creep make of that what he will._

Once she had shut the door firmly behind her, she pulled the lid off. Her eyes widened.

Inside the box was an exquisite red dress, very similar to one she used to own, although this one was strapless. She pulled it out of the box and the satiny fabric unfolded before her. There was no doubt about the beauty of this gift. She checked the tag. It was even in her size.

Emma sat on the floor of the apartment for nearly thirty minutes trying to figure out what the hell was going on. She was finally snapped out of her reverie by the arrival of Henry.

"Hey, Mom," he said, and then he noticed where she was. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing," she murmured, stuffing the dress back into the box, trying desperately to conceal it from him.

"You got a new dress? What for?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "it was waiting for me when I got home."

"There's something else with it," Henry said, picking up the piece of paper and handing it to her. "Must've fallen out of the box."

Emma had forgotten all about the note. She took it from him and read: _For you. Wear this tonight. The celebrations begin at 8. _

It was signed _your secret admirer._

"He did it then!" Henry exclaimed.

Emma eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Who did what?"

Henry could barely contain his excitement. "Nothing," he answered, "you just go get ready." Without another word he threw the dress into her hands and shoved her into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Emma stood in the shower for a very long time wanting nothing more than for the scalding water to wash away this frustrating day.

Henry knew something, knew who had been leaving her those notes. And he was excited about it. Who would Henry be excited about her dating?

She felt her heart stop.

_Hook_.

Henry had yet to shut up about the pirate. As much as Emma had tried to prevent their meeting, it had eventually happened and after their fateful trip to see Hook's ship, Henry had become almost obsessed. He'd wasted no time in showing her Hook's story in the fairytale book and hadn't shut up about it for days.

Although he hadn't admitted so, Emma knew that Henry was living in some kind of fantasyland where she would fall in love with Hook and they would live happily ever after.

But Emma knew better. Happily ever after didn't exist.

Or did it?

Her heart suddenly stuttered. She noticed that her hands were shaking. What was wrong with her?

_You're excited. You want to go out with him_.

She smiled to herself for a moment and then stopped. The last time she'd felt this excited about someone she'd been royally screwed over.

_But this is different… he's different._

She couldn't deny it now; she was looking forward to her date.

She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. A glance at her phone told her didn't have much time left. She quickly blew her hair dry while she let the curling iron heat up. She hadn't curled her hair in ages. She hadn't wanted to.

Until now.

She put on a little makeup, brushed her teeth, slipped the dress on, and looked at herself in the mirror. The dress fit her well and highlighted all of her best features while hiding her flaws. Hook knew how to pick out a dress, no question about that.

When Emma came out of the bathroom, she found Henry waiting in the living room for her.

"You look great," he told her.

She felt a blush creeping up her neck. "Thanks," she muttered. "Now I want you to go to bed, I'll be back in a little while."

Henry glared at her. "It's only eight."

"I don't care, you have school in the morning, and I don't want to be worried about you all night while I'm gone. Bed. Now." She pointed him to his room.

He frowned at her as he got up. She knew he was probably angry with her, again, but she was so overcome with nerves that she felt extra snappy.

She was surprised when he hugged her. "Have fun tonight, Mom," he said before heading to his room.

Emma smiled. And then she heard a knock on the door.

Her heart stopped.

_He's here_.

She took a few deep breaths and then went to answer the door.

But it wasn't Hook standing on her doorstep, it was someone she hadn't seen in more than ten years, the man who'd left her pregnant and in jail.

Her jaw dropped. "Neal!? What the hell are you doing here?"

He grinned, the same grin he always used to give her. Seeing that familiar smile again only made her more confused. "I'm here for our date. I see you got my notes."

"They were from… you?"

"Of course they were, who else would they be from? That guy August sent me a postcard saying the curse was broken and that I could come find you again if I wanted. And I did. Do. I've missed you Emma, every day over the last ten years. I've been planning how exactly to see you again and then I came up with this secret admirer idea and it just sort of planned itself. You ready?" He said all of this very quickly.

Emma barely heard what he said, all she knew was an intense sense of fury that he had the nerve to come to her like this after all this time mixed with an extremely foreign feeling of disappointment that he wasn't Hook. The latter feeling left her dumbfounded.

"You ready?" Neal asked again.

Emma felt the strong urge to slap him, but she refrained. Henry was in the next room. She'd told him that his father died. She didn't want him to learn that she'd lied to him. She wondered briefly what his explanation would be for abandoning her. And then she decided she'd go with him so she could get the answers she still needed, but only when they well away from their son. There was no reason for them to know about each other.

"Sure," she answered with a sickly sweet smile. "Just let me grab my coat."

* * *

Henry had been lurking just out of sight, listening. He was very confused.

He'd seen the pirate earlier in the day when Emma had walked him to the bus stop and again at recess. It seemed that he'd been watching over them, a fact which only confirmed for Henry that he loved his mother. He looked at her the way that his grandparents looked at each other.

Henry, crushed by Emma's reaction to not having a Valentine, had suggested that Hook take his mother out to dinner. A first date on the most romantic day of the year would be perfect and then maybe, just maybe, they could be a family. Hook had been confused at first, but as soon as Henry had explained what the holiday meant he'd agreed.

So when Henry had found her sitting on the floor with that pretty dress and the note, Henry had assumed that Hook had just been following through on the plans.

But the man he'd heard at the door was not Hook.

Henry ran over to the window and tried to make out who he was, but he couldn't see them anymore. He ran outside for a moment, ignoring the cold air and the way his feet were instantly frozen by the concrete. He didn't see his mother or the stranger anywhere, but he could see Hook standing across the street.

Henry waved at him and then stopped when he saw the pirate's face. He was devastated, staring blankly down at the flowers in his hand. Henry had never seen someone look so angry and yet so heartbroken at the same time.

Hook looked up, saw Henry, and then stormed away, throwing the flowers into the first bin he found. He ran his hand over his neck as he rounded the corner, not once looking back.

Henry stood still for a minute before crossing the street. He couldn't understand what had just happened. He walked a few paces and then pulled the flowers out of the trashcan. There was a card attached. The elegant handwriting was not the same as the note that had come with the dress.

It read: _I choose you_.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Although this was always meant to be a one shot I've never felt like this story was finished and it seems that a lot of you agree with me so we'll see how this goes. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update (work keeps me pretty busy), but I'll do my best! Thank you all for reading, it means a lot to me :)

* * *

"So," Emma said.

"So," Neal said. A smile creeped onto his face. "It's good to see you."

Emma grimaced.

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. Emma had imagined a more romantic dinner than Granny's when she'd found out about her date, but it was Storeybrooke's only restaurant and Neal hardly knew the town so she guessed it made sense.

Neal looked about to say something – _finally_ – but Granny herself walked over to their table and side eyed the two of them. "What can I get you two to drink?"

"Rum!" Emma blurted out without thinking. Her mind wandered back to a distant land, a climb up a beanstalk, and a pair of bright blue eyes surveying her as _he_ bandaged her hand. She suddenly felt extremely warm as she remembered the way his mouth had moved…

Neal raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment.

"You want that in anything?" Granny sounded scornful.

"Um, yes, orange juice. Please. That's fine."

Granny turns to Neal.

"Water, just water."

After she left, Neal said, "I don't remember you being much of a rum drinker."

"It's been ten years, I've changed."

"Right."

Silence descended again and continued until Granny came back with their drinks. She looked right at Neal and said, "Now you don't drink that too fast, I don't tolerate public drunkenness."

Neal, who had been taking a drink of his water and was unprepared for such a comment, started laughing so hard that the water came out of his nose.

Granny thumped him on the back, "You're okay there, Boy, just breathe."

Emma couldn't help it. She laughed harder than she had in months and by the time Neal was able to speak he had a smile on his face that she recognized from a time long gone. It made her heart hurt for what could have been.

"Maybe some things don't change," he coughed after Granny had walked away. "Your laugh is still perfect."

Emma felt a blush creep up her neck. She looked down at the table. "It is not."

Neal leaned forward and used a finger to tilt her chin back up. His eyes held her entranced and she suddenly felt like a teenager again. Her heart rate sped up.

_Do I want this?_

_I don't think I want this._

_But how will I know if I don't try?_

_He put you in jail!_

_That was a decade ago!_

Her hesitation must have been plain on her face. "You aren't sure about this." It wasn't a question.

"No," she admitted

His face fell and he pulled his hand back, letting it drop onto his lap.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out and immediately wished she could take it back.

"It's okay. I know I put you through a lot."

Emma took a long drink from her glass. She thought over all the things he'd put her through and all the years of suffering. She considered keeping her mouth shut and then decided that was a lost cause, that she would have to bring it up eventually. "Why?" she asked. "Why didn't you meet me?"

"I told you-August told me I had to let you go so you could break the curse." He looked annoyed.

"Bullshit."

"He told me that if I didn't let you become the savior you'd never see your parents again!"

"And so you just left me to take the fall for you. I was in jail. Totally alone and abandoned." _And pregnant_, she added in her head. She was even more determined to hide Henry from him, to let Henry continue to think his father had died in a fire, that was better than having him experience this pain.

"Not a day has gone by that I haven't regretted that decision."

She was quiet.

"You have your family back now don't you?"

Her mouth remained shut.

"It would've been selfish of me to have held onto you."

Emma stared at the man who made her unable to let anyone else in… because they'd only leave her too. Like he did. Like they all did. She was suddenly fighting back tears.

"I can't do this," she whispered and got up to leave.

She almost made it to the door before she ran into him.

"Miss Swan, you must watch where you're going."

"Mr. Gold!"

"After you, dearie," Gold said, holding the door open for her with a slight bow.

"Emma, wait!" Neal called as he leaped up from the booth and ran after her. And then he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. "Papa?"

_Papa?_

Gold's mouth fell open. "Bae," he breathed. "Son, I've looked for you for so long…"

_Bae?_

"Save it."

"What the hell is going on?" Emma practically screamed.

Neal reluctantly turned to face her. He looked supremely unhappy. "Emma, I'd like you to meet my father."


	3. Chapter 3

After she left Granny's, Emma wandered around in the cold for a while. She thought about going home, but that would mean facing Henry (who she knew had stayed awake even though she'd told him to go to bed) and besides, she just needed some time. There were too many thoughts in her head, but at the moment one stood out more prominently than the others:

_Rumple-fucking-stiltskin is my son's grandfather._

_How did this happen!?_

She was at a complete loss and more confused than she cared to admit. Not only were her parents Snow White and Prince Charming, but her first love, the man who had hurt her so badly, was from the same land as her. And he'd never mentioned it.

She tried to remember him ever talking about his family, but she couldn't. All she had known was that he was alone just like her. She'd never questioned it because she'd finally found someone who could understand her. Or so she'd thought.

Emma's heels pounding on the pavement matched the thumping of her furiously beating heart. She was paying no attention to where she was going, something she only realized when she couldn't feel her feet and was visibly shaking from the cold (her jacket, presumably, was still at the restaurant where she'd left it in her hurry to get away from Neal and his newfound father).

She stopped dead in her tracks and looked around. She was standing in the middle of an empty street she recognized as one that led to the docks. She laughed aloud.

_Of course I came here_.

Emma didn't even consider turning around. Against the protests of her aching feet, she crept up the street and peered around the corner.

She could just see it in the glare from the streetlights: the Jolly Roger.

Suddenly she felt extremely nervous. Was Hook on the ship somewhere? In his cabin? Or maybe out on the deck watching the stars?

She'd put one foot forward, determined to get a closer look for herself, when she stopped.

_This is… I… I can't._

She turned around, went back around the corner, and collapsed against the brick building that there. She ignored the cold concrete of the sidewalk.

_What am I going to do?_

Emma buried her head in her hands and tried to ignore the tears streaming down her cheeks.

* * *

It was a cold night and Killian Jones was huddled up in his quarters trying, and failing, to concentrate on some papers before him (with which he was attempting to discover a way out of this land). It was no use, however, because all he could think about was a beautiful blond woman (in a red dress that was so tantalizing it should be outlawed) walking down the street with another man.

"Dammit!" he shouted, flinging all the papers and other assorted items off his desk and onto the cabin floor.

He leaped to his feet and began to pace around and around the room, but that was no good at distracting him. He strode back over to his desk and flung the bottom drawer open and found what he needed: rum

Killian snatched at the flask like it was a lifeline. He popped the top open and took an appreciative whiff of its contents before taking a long drag and sighing contentedly.

"That's better."

He took another long drink before sitting in the chair again. He propped his feet up on the desk and waited for the comforting delirium that getting drunk off rum always brought him.

In the years after Milah's death, Killian was almost constantly drunk with no thoughts except how to say alive long enough to hurt the Dark One. The liquor helped dull the pain of all he'd lost, of all that he never have again.

But then he'd met her.

Killian remembered agreeing to hide under all those dead bodies, so determined was he to stay in Cora's good graces so she'd bring him here that he did anything she asked him to. But when the Princess Brigade uncovered him and his eyes met hers, he felt his heart reawaken, beating furiously in his ears and making it difficult to hear what they said to him.

He had drowned in that moment, dumbstruck by the woman who stood before him.

Sure, things hadn't really gone according to plan (if only she'd trusted him enough to not leave him on top of that beanstalk, but he knew she was scared and that she'd been hurt before, he just didn't know by who). He'd hoped that getting Aurora's heart back might have made him more favorable, but he knew that was overshadowed by his continued attempts on the Dark One's life.

He also knew she was furious with him for shooting Belle, but it wasn't like he'd actually succeeded in killing her… He'd merely wounded the girl who had Rumpelstiltskin's heart, and it served that bastard right for killing Milah.

For a moment Killian let his mind wander to all the moments he'd ever shared with Emma and her gorgeous green eyes. And then he remembered that she was currently with someone else. His blood began to boil and the room was suddenly much too warm. He couldn't breathe.

_I've got to get out of here._

He sprinted from the room and barely made it to the deck before the panic really set in. He took a few deep breaths through his nose, concentrating on inhaling and exhaling.

And then he went over to the ship's railing and looked over at the black water below.

"What's the point," he muttered to himself. "You're not good enough for her."

Killian was still for a few moments, and then he took another swig from the flask. He considered throwing it overboard, but stopped himself. Instead he collapsed upon the deck where he stayed until the rum was gone and, his mind a hazy blur, he slept.


	4. Chapter 4

Emma had no clue how long she sat there on the ground before she finally decided to get up. The moment she did her feet started screaming at her and so she leaned down and pulled off her heels, sighing at how good the cold felt on her aching feet.

She turned away from the docks and back in the direction of the apartment. She was never gladder that her parents had decided to get their own place—she didn't think she could handle Mary Margaret's questioning about where she'd been.

Storeybrooke was silent and dark as she slowly made her way.

_It must be really late_.

By the time she finally neared the apartment building all she could think about was crawling into her bed and never leaving.

Emma quietly put the key in the lock and opened the door. She could hear the tv in the living room before she even made it through the doorway. She just knew that Henry was asleep on the couch and, sure enough, he was passed out there completely unaware of her return.

She grinned fondly at him as she switched the tv off. He'd grown a lot recently and she wasn't entirely sure that she could carry him to his room, so she settled for covering him with a blanket and turning out the light before heading to her own room.

_Damn I need to start working out again if that walk was enough to wear me out._

But she knew the walk wasn't what had drained her.

Emma stripped off the red dress and momentarily considered throwing it out. It really was beautiful… and who knew how much Neal spent on it.

But she didn't want to keep it. What a horrible reminder of this _lovely _evening.

_I'll give it back to him, he can take it back to wherever he got it, get his money back_.

She threw on an old t-shirt before climbing into bed and pulling the comforter right over her head.

She closed her eyes and tried to clear her head, but her mind wouldn't shut up. She was confused over Neal and unsure about how she felt about him after all this time and all he'd done to her and still sad that Hook hadn't been the one to take her out tonight and wasn't completely sure why that was or why she'd been drawn to the docks and what it all meant and she had no idea how to sort any of it out.

The sun was just creeping through the window when Emma finally fell asleep.

She dreamed that she was sprinting for her life through a crowded airport. She had a plane to catch, an important plane, one that if she missed it her life would be ruined.

She was still in a dead sprint when she came upon a sign: left for gates 1-20, right for 21-40.

She stood stock still, staring aimlessly in both directions, ignoring all the people brushing by her. What was the right gate number? She couldn't remember.

She was unable to move, so sure that if she took one step in the wrong direction it would mean disaster.

And just when she had finally made up her mind and decided to go to the left… there was a loud pounding that made no sense given her current location.

The pounding intensified, and Emma jerked awake, gasping. "What the hell?" she muttered as she jumped out of bed and ran to the front door.

She had no idea who she expected to see, or even who she wanted to see, but it was her father on the doorstep before her, a sheepish smile on his face.

"What?" Emma grumbled.

David shrugged out of his jacket as he came in and hung it on one of the hooks by the door. "Heard you had a big date last night."

"Oh." She turned her back on him as she shut the door and went to put on a pot of coffee. "How'd you hear about that?"

"Henry, he showed up alone at Granny's this morning claiming that his mother was too dead asleep to make him breakfast this morning."

Emma grunted, but said nothing.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"No one ever said finding true love was easy."

Emma felt her blood start to boil. Her parents and their incessant talk of _true_ _love_ made her want to scream, as if that even existed in this world for people like her.

They were silent while the coffee brewed, and then they were silent some more as they both concentrated on their drinks.

David was the first to break the silence. "Emma?"

"Hmm?"

"You know your mother and I just want you to be happy, right?"

Emma sighed. That, above anything else, she knew for a fact and yet she was completely unsure if any real happiness, in _that_ way, was in her future.

David was watching her with his eyebrows raised, waiting.

"Yeah, yeah I know," she finally answered.


	5. Chapter 5

Killian woke when the sound of the gulls flying around the ship became unbearably loud. He squinted into the bright sunlight, forgetting for a minute what had happened the night before, but then he registered the flask lying beside him and the pounding in his head.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, getting gingerly to his feet.

_I need something to eat. _He swallowed at the thought of food and felt his throat burn. _And some water._

He settled for removing his leather coat and jumping headfirst over the side of the ship. When his head broke the surface of the water he breathed a sigh of relief.

_Ah, that's better_.

His head finally clearing, he floated for a minute trying to remember the last time he'd been so drunk that he hadn't made it to bed before sleeping it off, but he couldn't.

And he knew exactly what had caused the change.

Her. Her with someone else.

Killian closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing as he tried, and failed, to get her out of his head.

* * *

Emma was late to the station that morning. It had taken more than an hour to convince David that she was fine and then she'd stood in the shower letting the hot water wash over her until her fingers and toes turned all pruney. By the time she had thrown on her boots and locked the apartment behind her on her way out it was nearly noon. She couldn't find it in her to care that probably someone was there waiting to report some crime or other.

But, to her great surprise, no one was waiting for her at the station and there were no messages on the machine. Under normal circumstances she would've felt sad that no one was looking for her… and then she saw the note.

It was sitting on the keyboard of her computer with her name written on the front in the same hand as the notes she'd received the previous day.

_Neal._

Emma strode over to the desk and took the note in her hand. She stood staring at it for a full minute before deciding that she didn't want to know what he had to say.

She tossed it in the trashcan before beginning the day's work.

* * *

Henry normally enjoyed school, especially since his teacher _finally_ knew that they were related, but not today.

Today all he felt was confusion. And not because the math lesson Ms. Blanchard was teaching made no sense at all.

He didn't know who the man who'd taken his mother out was and no one else seemed to know either. When Emma didn't wake up to make him breakfast like she normally did (she was so asleep that all his attempts to rouse her had proven pointless), he'd gone to Granny's where Ruby gave him a huge stack of pancakes and told him all about "the date."

"I don't know who he was, but he was cute in that boy-next-door kind of way, I saw them sit down at that booth over there and Granny got them drinks and they were talking about something that looked really serious because Emma's brows were all scrunched together, but I don't know what because right then Victor showed up and took me out and it was the best time…"

Henry had stopped listening to her at that point, he was happy that she seemed happy, but it was very irrelevant to him as her story did nothing to quench his curiosity.

Who was that man?

He _had_ to know.

Mary Margaret seemed to notice his distraction. She pulled him aside before recess to ask him if he was okay.

Henry hurriedly told her yes and ran off to his favorite corner of the playground. He collapsed onto the grass and pulled the fairy tale book out of his backpack. Even though strangers could now come into Storeybrook he just had a feeling that this man was from the same land as his family… which meant he had to be somewhere in this book.

He spent the next half an hour carefully scanning every page, but he couldn't find the man anywhere. Maybe it was like Pinocchio and Emma, he'd come over before the curse and aged so his fairytale self would be a child.

And then he found what looked like a younger version of the man, but it was in the story about Rumplestiltskin, that couldn't be right…

Although he had practically every tale in the book memorized he read this one again. The boy in the story was Rumplestiltskin's son.

_What could his son possibly want with my mother? Maybe he's really someone else, he might not be Baelfire at all…_

He went though the whole book again and only became surer that his mother's date had been Baelfire, although how they knew each other was still a mystery to him.

Henry was still pondering this when the bell rang. He stuffed the book back into his bag and ran to class. His list of unanswered questions was only growing, as was his frustration at not being able to figure out what, exactly, was going on.

If Emma wouldn't tell him he was going to have to do some snooping.


	6. Chapter 6

Henry was waiting for Emma when she came home from work, and he tried his hardest to remain casual.

"Hey, Mom."

He'd already failed. He knew his tone was too hopeful. _Oh well._

"Hey, Kid, listen about this morning…"

"It's fine," Henry cut her off. "You had a long night." He leaped to his feet and ran to her side. "So, how was it?"

Emma's face was briefly pained before it turned back into a determinedly expressionless mask. "Fine," she answered.

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine."

"That's all you have to say about it?"

Emma shook her head slightly before striding past him. "Yes."

Henry felt his determination growing. "Well, who was he?"

"No one."

"Is he someone we know?"

Here Emma paused before answering. "Not you, just me."

"So you knew him before you came to Storeybrooke?"

For an answer Emma slightly tilted her chin. He took this as a yes.

"Is he from Boston?"

She remained silent.

"Did you know him before you went to jail?"

More silence.

"Did you know him before you had me?"

Emma was now loudly moving pots in the cupboard, probably in an effort to drown out his questions, but that in no way deterred him.

"Have you known each other since you were kids?"

From inside the cupboard Henry heard her sigh.

"Is he from fairytale land?"

She banged a pot onto the stove.

"Does he know anyone else besides you?"

She was now rummaging through the refrigerator.

"Can I meet him?"

She slammed the fridge.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Henry! Enough!"

Irritation was radiating out of every part of her face, and Henry felt momentarily frightened. It reminded him of how he felt after learning that his adopted mother was the Evil Queen.

They stood silent for a moment and then Emma spoke.

"Henry, I…I'm sorry."

"Forgot about it," he said as he climbed up on one of the barstools. He'd expected her to get annoyed, not as angry as she'd appeared a few moments ago. Solving this mystery was to be harder than he'd thought.

He picked up a pen from the counter and started clicking it absentmindedly.

"Kid…"

He continued to click the pen.

"Henry?"

He finally looked up at her. Although Henry was frustrated (and no closer to finding out the identity of the man) he was able to register a heartbroken look in Emma's eyes which he had no idea how to make sense of.

"What do you want for dinner? You pick."

Henry's appetite had all but disappeared, but he knew telling her that would make her look even sadder.

"Breakfast?" he asked.

Emma grinned at him. "Sure, but only if you scramble the eggs."

He tossed the pen aside and hopped to his feet, concentrating on the task before him as he thought things over. He had assumed, mistakenly it seemed, that her sleeping late was in an effort to sleep off the pleasant night she'd had, but he could see now that something disastrous must have happened instead.

"What'd you say, regular pancakes or chocolate?"

_Was that a serious question?_

He laughed. The sound made her smile.

"Chocolate it is then," she said without waiting for his answer.

But Henry had already stopped listening, he was to busy wondering who else he could ask. There had to be _someone_…

* * *

Killian was walking aimlessly around the dark town. He'd no particular destination in mind, he just needed to walk off some of the nervous energy that had been building inside him since the day before, and the cold air felt soothing on his face.

When he finally looked up and registered where he was his heart stuttered.

He was standing right outside of Emma's apartment building.

He momentarily considered turning around and heading back to his ship, but then he stopped himself. He _had_ to see her.

Being a pirate had taught him many things, one of which was how to sneak up onto rooftops unseen to watch enemies.

Except this time it was not his enemy he wanted to see.

His only problem was that he didn't know where in the building her rooms were. He was so determined to catch a glimpse of her that he would've climbed onto fifty rooftops if he had to.

As luck would have it, Killian was able to see her from the first rooftop, the one to the left of her building.

She was sitting at a table smiling at her lad.

They looked happy upon first glace, but looking at them closer he could sense a bit of strain on Emma's face.

She was not happy. In fact she looked absolutely miserable.

Killian wasn't sure if her boy knew as much or if she'd succeeded in hiding her true feelings, but she didn't fool him.

As he watched they rose from the table. Henry left the room and didn't come back. Emma walked back and forth clearing off the table. On her last trip, she stopped and put her head in her hands. Her back was shuddering slightly, and he knew she was crying. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her.

But in another moment she'd stood up, run a hand over her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned back to the task at hand.

She didn't return in view of the window.

Killian felt a small spark of something like hope catch fire in his chest.

_She hadn't enjoyed herself the night before._


	7. Chapter 7

Emma hadn't slept well. Her dreams were plagued by restlessness as she ran, ran, ran toward some unknown destination. She woke up the next morning with determination coursing through her veins. She knew what she needed to do: return the dress to Neal and somehow get him to leave before he and Henry found out about each other.

As she made her way to the Bed and Breakfast with the dress draped over her arm, she thought over the night before. Henry had always been much too perceptive for his own good, something she'd always known from the first moment she met him, but she had been unprepared for his interrogation. It was more important than ever for her to get Neal to leave. She was sure it was only a matter of days before Henry found out about him and she was unwilling to admit how angry she knew he'd be if he found out the truth.

When Emma was in the lobby and found no one there, she felt overwhelmingly relieved. Throwing caution to the wind, she snuck behind the counter and quickly looked through the ledger to find which room Neal was in.

She was about to go up the stairs when she stopped. Turning around, she grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a quick note onto it.

_Neal, I'm returning this dress to you so can get your money back. I hope you have a nice trip back to New York. Emma_

Emma scanned the note before deciding it was good enough, and she turned to head up the stairs. She knew her words were passive aggressive, she just couldn't find it in herself to care.

Emma wanted to run and get out of there as soon as possible, but the stairs were creaky, and she didn't want to call attention to herself. She stopped outside the door of room six, listening intently. The tv was on inside the room. Neal was there.

Feeling jumpy, Emma hung the dress on the doorknob and put her note on the ground before she turned tail and fled, not even caring if she made any noise.

Running felt good, the strain in her muscles and her shortness of breath reminding her how long it had been since she'd run like this.

_I'll run to the station, no need to go pick up the bug_.

Thinking of the yellow car brought a stab of pain to her chest as she imagined what Neal would say if he saw she was still driving it.

Emma was still wondering how that conversation would play out and therefore was paying no attention as she sped around a corner and ran straight into a black clad figure.

She crashed to the ground, catching her weight on her hands and feeling the skin scrape away as they connected with the concrete. "Damn," she muttered.

"You alright there, love?"

Emma's heart actually stopped in her chest as she recognized the voice. Only one person had ever called her 'love.' How ironic that she'd see him as she was literally running away from Neal.

She took a shuddering breath as she looked up at him.

"Fine," she answered.

Hook held out his hand to help her to her feet, his blue eyes piercing. "You were running awfully fast there, Swan, everything okay?"

"I'm fine," she said again. She tried to brush the dirt off her hands, but stopped when her palms screamed in protest. She groaned.

"You don't look fine," he said, taking one of her hands in his.

Did he notice the spark that flamed through her at his touch?

Hook leaned down and conducted a quick assessment of her bloody palms. "You need to get these cleaned up."

Emma continued to look down at her hands so he couldn't see the blush that was creeping across her cheeks. She tried to brush it off, determined to not let him know the effect he had on her. "It'll be fine."

She knew that he was looking skeptically at her, but she still refused to make eye contact with him, instead deciding to resume her path to the station.

He simply turned and walked with her. "You don't seem fine," he said as he matched her stride.

"I don't?"

"Open book, remember?"

She felt her face get redder. He was right, of course, she'd just never admit it.

They walked in silence for a while. Emma was normally completely uncomfortable with silence, but with Hook it didn't feel awkward. She felt calm for the first time in days.

He was the one who finally broke the silence. "Please let me help you with your hands."

She finally looked into his face and was shocked by the sincerity she saw there.

"It's the least I can do for knocking you over."

Emma swallowed before answering. "Okay."

Hook grinned at her, and she was unable to stop a matching smile from creeping onto her face too.

Once they got to the station, Emma went right to her desk and pulled out the first aid kit. She sat down on the wooden surface. Hook's brow furrowed as he looked over the contents of the box.

She laughed. "Use this one," she said, handing him the bottle of antiseptic wash. "And this." She handed him the gauze roll.

He set to work then, concentrating on his task. Emma couldn't help thinking about the last time he'd fixed her hand, on top of the beanstalk. She was on the point of wondering if he'd use his mouth to tie the bandage again when he bent down and did just that, tying a neat knot and securing the wrap around her wrist. He then paid the same attention to her other hand.

_What else can he do with that mouth?_

He glanced up at her then, and she thought for a frantic moment that she'd spoken aloud, but then she realized that he was finished.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, thank you."

He grinned brightly at her. "Glad to help, milady," he said, and he actually _bowed_ before turning and leaving her sitting dumbfounded on her desk.


End file.
